Intrinsic
by MickeyMonroe
Summary: "I am sorry for causing you pain," he shifted against the pillow, grunting as the movement tugged at his wound and looking distantly through the monitor displaying his heart rate. "This may just be the morphine talking, but-" Molly shook her head. "Don't ruin it. You were doing so well."


Molly Hooper strode purposefully down the hallways of St. Bart's hospital, her black flats tapping softly on the lino as she wound through this less occupied wing.

Of course Mycroft would demand he be located as far away from the other patients as possible, it would have only been a matter of time before Sherlock's opinion and the doctors' would begin to part ways. She could only imagine how he would have terrorized the other patients, dragging an IV drip along with him like a bizarre psycho film while he was unauthorized to leave.

As much as the thought entertained her, it barely made a dent in her mood; which was something akin to a smoothie at the moment. Fear, yes. Anger, definitely. Worry…of course. Sympathy, a smattering. Was she still going to kill him if he got out of this alive?

She paused, her fingers on the cool metal of the handle to his room.

Yes. Definitely. They still hadn't spoken since the drug incident, and she originally had no intention to repair the damage done to their relationship, content to let him stew until he came to her on his own terms. Things had changed quickly.

The door opened silently and she entered in the same manner.

Her resolve to box him round the ears dissolved on impact as she took in his unconscious figure; skin pale as porcelain against the harsh, sterile white of the recovery room. If it weren't the inky black curls and IV, he might have blended into the sheets.

His eyelids were closed tightly as her feet carried her toward the bedside like a magnet, but when she breathed his name, they flickered open.

"Sherlock Holmes, you bloody idiot!" she hissed, even as his eyes flicked lazily around the room in dazed confusion. "I'm over here, you clot!"

There was a small, wooden chair at his left and she tucked herself into it, reaching for his hand and gently squeezing it.

The crystal blue of his irises finally found focus on her and he squinted at first, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Molly?" he muttered hoarsely, and the sound was enough to drag tears into the corners of her eyes that she promptly blinked away. Molly smiled at him for a moment, nodding, before it slipped back into a thin line. "Molly Hooper."

"S'right."

"Mycroft told me you weren't going to come."

"Well, I wasn't going to," she told him, and he blinked at her, a tiny frown appearing on his mouth. "You _had_ been a bit of a tit. I was waiting for you to apologize, but then you went and got yourself _shot_,which I am _furious _at you for-"

"I am truly sorry, Molly."

His gaze had flickered down to where her hand still was draped over his as she gaped at him.

"Sorry…_what_?"

"I am sorry for causing you pain," he shifted against the pillow, grunting as the movement tugged at his wound and looking distantly through the monitor displaying his heart rate. "This may just be the morphine talking, but-"

Molly shook her head. "Don't ruin it. You were doing so well."

Sherlock chuckled a bit, wincing at the feeling and gasping for air.

"Don't tell jokes, Molly," he begged, pulling the other hand over his abdomen. "They may _just _be the death of me."

"Years and years of making enemies out of ordinary people and psychopaths alike, but _I'm _what's going to drag you to the grave?" She tried to tease him lightly.

He turned to her once more, the corner of his mouth quirking upward for a split second.

"I believe the correct phrase is _been there, done that._"

Her mouth opened briefly, then shut. She swallowed.

"How are you feeling?"

He sighed, irritably eying the direction of his covered bandages.

"Fine, just fine," he said. "Although the constant medication is making it hard to focus on much of anything, but it's for the best for the time being."

Molly grinned and tousled his hair with her free hand, unwilling to let go of Sherlock's while he was allowing her to touch him.

"I've never known you to be so submissive."

The glare he shot at her was hazy at best, causing her to chuckle and smooth the disturbed curls back into place. "Has John been by yet?"

Sherlock took a moment to answer, seeming to enjoy being petted like a cat, and let his eyelids slide closed again.

"Yes," he muttered. "Several times, they told me, but I was unconscious."

"Am I the first one to get you awake, then?" she asked, removing her fingers from his head. The pale lids stayed closed, however.

"No. Mycroft was here earlier. Miss Adler appears to have made a visit as well, but I missed it."

Molly blinked in confusion as Sherlock squinted pointedly at the single rose on the corner shelf, an unreadable expression on his face. "Oh, and Janine."

"Sorry, who?"

He cocked an eyebrow, peering at her out of the corner of his face for a moment before returning to neutrality and mumbling. "Never mind. You'll likely see it in the papers. None of it is true, by the way. We never had sex."

Molly's brows shot upward.

Sherlock seemed to be able to tell, even though he couldn't see her. "I'll explain later. I'll explain it all later, I'm just so _tired_."

She nodded and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

"Okay. I'm still angry at you, though."

"For getting shot?" he slurred, forcing his eyes open again. "That was hardly _my_ fault-"

"For the _drugs_, Sherlock. Promise me you'll never do them again."

"It was for a case, Mo-"

"Promise!" she insisted, grasping his limp hand with both of her own. "You don't have to do it for me, I know I'm not important, but-"

"Molly-" he tried.

"No, let me finish." She drew in a breath. "But they hurt _everyone_. It's stupid and unhealthy and so _so_ scary. So…promise them. John, Ms. Hudson, Mary, Lestrade… promise for them."

A frown had crept over his features that she couldn't explain, but his features softened again as he looked at her.

"If anything has become clear over the past few years, it is that you are _intrinsic_ to everything I have ever done. That fact has become…achingly clear to me, in the last few hours especially, and I'd appreciate it if you would cease to belittle yourself so. Furthermore," he swallowed. "I will avoid drugs from now on. But, really, Molly, it was for a case."

"You're ruining it again," she smiled tearfully, and he quirked the corner of his mouth once more. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment while Molly adjusted his bracelet to fill the space where verbal conversation might have been. "What did you mean?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" Sherlock muttered, his eyes closing against the drugs in his body.

"'In the last few hours, especially.' What did that mean? We haven't spoken for…weeks, how would I have…"

She trailed off, as she realized that Sherlock had fallen asleep, his breathing slowing to a steady rate and his fingers just barely intertwined with her own. Molly left as quietly as she could, turning out the light on her way out.

"You were in my mind palace," he mumbled. "You saved me, Molly Hooper."  
She spun back around only to find him completely still, as if he had never spoken at all. Whatever he had said, she would ask him of it later. For now, it was best he heal.

**A/N There will be one more chapter to this. I've only written it in my brain though.**


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